


pro patria

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Series: Rime Royal [3]
Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Ascalonian, Backstory, Coming of Age, Diaspora, During Canon, Friendship, Gen, Human Noble Origin, Male-Female Friendship, Mesmer - Freeform, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Canon, Sister-Sister Relationship, missing sister, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ascalonian, sir, and proud of it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mix of backstory, lots of headcanon, and a sort of ... slight AU, I guess, where choosing "proud Ascalonian" in the political climate of GW2 actually affects the character's history and personality.

**1**

I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second.

Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself.

Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the _Black Citadel_  of all places, carved her way through only the gods know what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released.

She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears.

**2**

Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them.

She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know, centaurs—”

“We need to go home,” said Father.

A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen.

**3**

My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But _Langmar_ meant nearly as much as _Fairchild_ in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations.

When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes.

Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends.

**4**

Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty.

“I don’t understand,” I said blankly.

“We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.”

Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought— _as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have **Ascalon** to fight for._

**5**

Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and I in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion.

I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror.

“You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda.

“I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have _amazing_ parties.”

Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society.

My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!”

He preened.

**6**

We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district.

“Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.”

“Ascalon was ravaged by the _Searing_ ,” I said sharply, all laughter gone.

Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable.

“You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?”

Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, it's just that we’re Ascalonian.”

“I guessed,” said the guide.

**7**

I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if never malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did.

_To Minister Ailoda Langmar,_

_I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Lieutenant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle._

_With my deepest condolences to you and your family,_

_Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale)_

As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph.

Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "I was born there": there is, of course, no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived (six), and originally had a section where she talks about how dim her memories of Ebonhawke are, but it’s a lot of finagling for not much reason. I just love Ebonhawke and the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds.
> 
> 2\. "my aunt Elwin": Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan interference.
> 
> 3\. "five-year-old Deborah": I can't remember if we know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah is definitely older. Given how young and naive the PC seems at first, I got the impression that the gap was significant but not enormous.
> 
> 4\. "the Salma District itself": Salma strikes me as prosperous, particularly considering the aristocrats on Manor Hill and the high-profile robberies there. In terms of mechanics, I can see why the PC always comes from there, regardless of ethnicity or class. Storywise, though, it seems odd, considering the sharp class divisions and the segregation of ethnic Ascalonians, Elonians, and Canthans into their own districts. So there's some fanwank of that.
> 
> 5\. "Duke Barradin himself": Obviously, Barradin has no direct descendants, but Faren (for sure) and the PC (by implication) are descended from royalty, and we know the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular. With an Ascalonian PC, some sibling/cousin of Barradin's seems the most likely progenitor.
> 
> 6\. "only a Langmar": there's no sign that Captain Langmar had anything like an aristocratic background, but we're told that class hierarchy among Rurikton Ascalonians is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was from _Prophecies_ to _EOTN._
> 
> 7\. "mixed heritage": GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in _Prophecies._ We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Kryta Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s “pure Ascalonian.” Unlike the impure ones? So despite the overriding solidarity as Ascalonians, there are plenty of issues there. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.
> 
> 8\. "safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry": per #4, yes, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon about as far as it will go here. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma. So my fanwank is that Ascalonian nobles in Salma are mostly living in second homes, for show and entering wider Krytan society, whereas their ancestral mansions are generally in Rurikton and their children raised there.
> 
> 9\. "Yolanda, Corone, and Faren": Faren is obvious ofc, and Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws. Yolanda is a gossipy flirt whose crush on Logan Thackeray can be seen from space, while Corone warmly speaks of fighting at the PC’s side.
> 
> 10\. "more than tracing our family trees": an Ascalonian in Rurikton criticizes the community for being obsessed with ancestry.
> 
> 11\. "as long as Ebonhawke stands": she's echoing the Rurikton Guide.
> 
> 12\. "Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire": you don't get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words.
> 
> 13\. "Minister Ailoda Langmar": the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no last name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics. With "Deborah Fairchild," ofc we also don't have a surname for Deborah.
> 
> 14\. "the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds": all attendees of the party. Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.


	2. Chapter 2

**1**

My sister’s gravestone read:

_Deborah Fairchild_   
_Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon_   
_Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage._

No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean.

When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us.

**2**

For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave.

Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying:

“Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.”

“Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery.

“All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.”

“She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—”

“You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?”

I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too.

**3**

_Teach me_ , I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars.

Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place.

But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled.

“Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.”

**4**

My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma.

Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister.

 _I miss Debs every day_ , I wrote to my aunt, _but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor._

**5**

To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor.

The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand.

I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning.

**6**

Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’ footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed.

I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones.

He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but _I_ knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight—there were worse ways to die.

But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was.

**7**

All my life, I had been _Minister Ailoda’s other girl_ or _the lady Elwin’s niece_ or _Lieutenant Fairchild’s sister_ or _a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side_ —or, now and then, merely _my lady_. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles.

I rarely heard it after Shaemoor, either. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples.

Yet there was no _my lady_ any more, much less _So-and-so’s relation_ : only the hero of Shaemoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family": Anise shows up as one of the PC's friends in the noble origin screen. We aren't really shown the relationship, and the age difference seems likely to be ... significant, so I tried to imagine how it could work. Anise as mentor (particularly for a mesmer PC, which she is here) seemed to work better than anything like Faren. 
> 
> 2\. "clever lady mesmer like my namesake": the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original _Guild Wars: Prophecies_ can figure it out from this reference.
> 
> 3\. "she was Ascalonian too": not stated outright in the game, but she certainly looks it.
> 
> 4\. "his foremother Gwen's relentless courage": if you haven't played _Prophecies_ , Gwen is a lighthearted, flute-playing child before the Searing who randomly heals you if you befriend her. She's captured and enslaved by the Charr during the Searing, and after several attempts escapes as a traumatized, violent young Mesmer who will vengefully fight alongside the PC. She gains a reputation as a ruthless warrior, commander, and general wreaker of havoc even among the Charr, marries Keiran Thackeray, becomes one of the leaders of the Ascalonian Vanguard working within Charr territory, and founds Ebonhawke. Logan is her direct descendant (and likely heir, as his command appears to be hereditary—Logan inherited it from his brother). 
> 
> 5\. "Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?": Profession and choice of patron deity are completely independent (there's nothing to prevent a necromancer PC choosing Dwayna as patron goddess, for instance, improbable though it seems). As mesmers rely on chaos magic, Kormir—goddess of order—is a rather odd choice for a mesmer (Lyssa fits better). I'm not entirely sure if magic/etc are entirely innate, entirely learned, or some combination; I'm assuming the latter, so the divide between her profession and patronage is suggestive both of choice and the innate conflicts in her nature.
> 
> 6\. "superiority of ... Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma": also suggestive that such an apparently conventional, straitlaced personality prefers the bloodthirsty, vindictive Gwen to the steady, inspirational Salma. Of course, some of that is her intense Ascalonian identity.
> 
> 7\. "our childhood friend, Kasmeer Meade": there's no sign that Kasmeer has a history with the PC, but I put that down to mechanics—noble origin doesn't seem to impact the story beyond the early story arc around it. But as Kasmeer and the noble origin PC are both close, longtime friends to Faren, it's hard to see how they wouldn't know each other well. 
> 
> 8\. "the murder of an Ascalonian minister": Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. AFAIK, it's still unsolved. The wiki says that there are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.
> 
> 9\. "before I try myself against the Charr": you can get to Ebonhawke straight from DR, but it would be ... uh, unwise at this point (it's a 30+ zone). 
> 
> 10\. "a boy as blond as Debs": Deborah will be blonde if you choose Ascalonian. There are various villagers mourning their killed dogs and frightened children you can rescue. 
> 
> 11\. "my association with Logan Thackeray": the PC talks of Logan's record defending DR, but more as a distant admirer ("Captain Thackeray"), and Logan doesn't seem able to identify the PC until after the battle brings them to his notice. He also doesn't seem to know anything about Deborah despite his interest in Falcon Company, or the PC's connection to Falcon, or their ethnicity, which seems to strongly suggest he and the PC just don't know each other well. For noble origin, it's hard to think they haven't met (particularly as the PC knows Anise), but it must be very passing.
> 
> 12\. "a Langmar and a Thackeray again": Gwen Thackeray joined the Vanguard under Captain Langmar, and served her loyally until Langmar died heroically, when (per Langmar's wishes) she was made captain of the Vanguard. Here, the PC is daughter of a Langmar, loyally serving a Thackeray.
> 
> 13\. "rarely heard my own name": call-out to the various ways of avoiding a specific name for the PC, of course.
> 
> 14\. "fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples": all low-level quests in Queensdale.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section is more or less concurrent with the "Welcome Home" personal story.

**1**

These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now.

At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? _Me_ , fighting with a _sword?_  Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it.

She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she?

**2**

I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house.

I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest.

Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be.

**3**

Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen or eighteen, he said,

“I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I’d throw up.”

I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same.

“Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him.

Faren brightened. “Grandmama _was_ a Fairchild.”

**4**

Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow.

“The hero of Shaemoor returns!”

I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard.

I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for.

“Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.”

When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival.

**5**

“Minister Zamon.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.”

He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles.

“Then you’re almost a hero already, _my lord_ ,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.”

I was not Deborah.

**6**

Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!”

In his imagination, maybe.

Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants.

I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream.

**7**

Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone.

With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren—

“My lady?” said someone near us, and then “my lady!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether.

I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma.

At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Barely passed beyond Shaemoor": Faren's note arrives at level 10.
> 
> 2\. "Even as children": we don't know when the PC met Faren, but he addresses them as "old friend," so it seems to go back a long ways. Given how profoundly inane Faren is, I have trouble envisioning the abrasive PC befriending him as an adult. But they're evidently very close; he appears with Anise and Logan in the noble origin opening scene, and the in-game description points out, "Your friend Faren acts like a cad, but he rushed to see you after you were injured in the centaur attack." When the priestess mentions the visit just as "a noble from the city," the PC immediately and correctly assumes it must be Faren. It's such an oddball friendship (particularly if you play as an attractive young woman!) that I wanted to explore it a little.
> 
> 3\. "nothing could be further from the truth": while Faren makes plenty of sex jokes around a female PC (which she laughingly shuts down), it's always in reference to other women, and he's emphatically platonic in his references to the PC herself, to the point of relying on her as a sympathetic ear in his vairous romantic troubles, and occasionally trying to recruit her as his wingman. Yolanda's remarks about how the PC should know better than to "follow that rascal Faren around" because "he's trouble" seem to suggest there's some gossip there, though, particularly as Yolanda is warm and affectionate towards her. 
> 
> 4\. "Grandmama was a Fairchild": ofc we know nothing of Faren's ancestry, but we are told that he's descended from royalty, and he seems to be Ascalonian; it's certainly easy to believe that he's inbred.
> 
> 5\. “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again”: exact quote from the PC; apparently she likes animals. 
> 
> 6\. “Then you’re almost a hero already, _my lord_ ”: the emphasis is mine (he insults her as a noble and she responds by addressing him as one, himself), but otherwise an exact quote. 
> 
> 7\. “Even my old friends”: Corone's and Yolanda's summarized remarks are from the game (as is Faren's easy assent when the PC wants to go). 
> 
> 8\. “they'd have to have some way to recognize each other”: of course, bandits are extremely recognizable as a player, but I tend to imagine they're a little less uniform (and blatant) in-story, given that they're freely wandering around without anyone appearing to notice them.


End file.
